An admiral’s holiday turns into a conspiracy investigation. The Admiral and the Pilot, a standalone space opera with romance by Greta van der Rol.
Fran Navarro checked the instruments in the old freighter’s cockpit one more time and nodded. “Performing as required,” she said to Mick via her implant. “Pass.”
She eased out of the seat and made her way to the airlock where she jumped down onto the floor in the maintenance bay.
Mick had recalled the droids. They clustered around their hub, waiting for the next job. He grinned at her. “She’ll do a few more years. As long as she’s treated nicely.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Looks like Gomez is taking somebody on a grand tour. Do you know anything about that?”
Fran followed his gaze to where the station’s manager was in deep conversation with another man who strode easily, keeping pace with Gomez’s shorter steps. If that man wasn’t a Fleet officer she’d hand in her pilot’s license. Or maybe just retired? Tall, well built, wavy dark hair maybe a fraction too long.
Mick chuckled. “You might be in with a chance, Fran.”
She started. “What?”
“They’re coming over here.”
Gomez’s voice drifted toward her.
“This is Navarro Transport’s workshops,” he told his companion. “They specialize in older ships. The AX50 here is a good example. Not many people have the equipment or expertise to repair them.” He patted the old girl on her hull.
Up close the visitor was even better looking. Not young, she’d say mid-forties, with brown eyes that looked right through you. She stepped forward.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Fran Navarro.”
He inclined his head. “Miss Navarro. I’m Konrad Valperez. Pleased to meet you. And it’s nice to see these lovely old ladies still in service. Reliable and versatile. And efficient with smaller loads.” He had a smooth baritone voice with a cultured accent.
Valperez. She knew that name.
“The Valperez family owns Hacienda Station.” Gomez was going to say more but Valperez forestalled him.
“I’m here on Ceranoso for a short stay. I thought it appropriate to call at Hacienda since it’s family property. Your name is familiar.”
She swallowed. “Is it?”
His gaze shifted as he accessed his implant. “Lieutenant Francine Navarro won the Pullman medal two years in a row. A relative?” His lips curved in the hint of a smile.
He knew. And for pity’s sake, her face heated. “That was me, yes.”
“What’s the Pullman medal?” Gomez asked.
“Fleet’s top excellence award for pilots,” Valperez said without taking his gaze off her face. “I’ve watched your display several times. Remarkable skill. And now you repair ships.”
He said it as though it was a comedown.
“Fleet wanted to promote me. I’d be out of the cockpit, surrounded by reports, applications, meetings. Not my scene. Are you still in Fleet?”
He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “I am. But my role here is not military. I’m representing my family. And how is your business?”
“Not bad. Not as good as it was last year but we do all right.” She pointed at Mick. “This is Mick Cavallo, my chief mechanic and right-hand man. He did a great job doing the maintenance for this ship.”
“Mister Gomez tells me you employ Ptorix?”
“I do. It’s very difficult for humans to work on Ptorix ships.”
“So I understand. Where are your staff?”
She stepped past him and waved at a large bay holding a Ptorix courier ship. “That one needed a few parts. Xendo and Mick actually built them between them. Xendo’s doing the fitting now.”
“How well does the translator handle technical work?”
She shrugged. “The translator does a reasonable job and I’ve learned the body language. We get by. Don’t we Mick?”
“Yeah. Sometimes we have misunderstandings, but a bit of mime helps a lot.” The young man demonstrated with his hands as if fitting two parts together. It was actually quite suggestive.
“I believe there has been some friction between the Ptorix and the human population in Palmerston. Has that affected you?” Valperez said.
And that had been getting worse, too. Fran lived up here on the station but she’d heard the news from the city that there had been an increase in fighting. It bothered Xendo but it hadn’t affected his relationship with her and Mick.
She shook her head. “It hasn’t affected us.” Although some of the traders had left, saying it was getting too difficult to stay. “What has affected us is the paperwork. Insurance claims being delayed, new regulations to approve repairs. That sort of thing.”
“I see.” He glanced around again and she had the feeling he was seeing more than that bland exterior gave away.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Navarro. It has been a pleasure to meet a pilot who won the Pullman medal two years running. I hope you still get an opportunity to fly.”
Fran fought the urge to salute as he turned away with Gomez.
Mick sniggered. “That’s a first. You’re smitten.”
She curled her lip at him. “Rubbish. I’m just trying to remember what I know about him.”
“You could try this,” Mick said, his eyes sparkling as he pointed at his temple.
Smart Alec.
She looked up Valperez in the Fleet information on Ceranoso’s net. He wasn’t hard to find. “He’s an admiral,” she squeaked. “Level two.”
Good grief. She’d cheeked him. Oh, pull yourself together. You’re a civilian.
Mick was finding this hilarious. “Hey, boss, if it makes you feel any better, I think he quite fancied you.”
“Oh, get real.” She wore grease-stained overalls and sensible work boots. And her hair was coming out of the clip at the back of her neck.
Mick became serious, his attention drawn to Gomez and his visitor. They’d stopped outside what used to be Ferdinand’s workshop, now shut down. He’d moved out last month. But the Halberd 950 sat there in the bay, still awaiting insurance clearance.
“Why do you think he’s really here?” Mick said.
“Hacienda is slowing down. So, they can’t be making as much money. Let’s hope he can do something about all the red tape. Hey, I could use a kaff. What about you?”
***
Gomez droned on, repeating himself now. The station manager did a good enough job, judging by the books, but Valperez had heard enough about occupancy rates and maintenance schedules.
“I understand several ships have gone missing,” Valperez said. “Do you suspect piracy?”
Gomez’s brow wrinkled. “We don’t know that, Ad—sorry… Mister Valperez. The ships don’t arrive at their destinations.” His face brightened. “That’s Captain Monroe over there. One of his went missing a few weeks ago.”
He picked up his pace and called out to a thin man making his way toward the exit.
“Bill. Got a minute?”
The man stopped and turned, glancing between Gomez and Valperez. “Sure.” He smiled. “You’d be a Valperez.”
Valperez smiled. “Yes. Konrad Valperez. I’m here representing my family. And you are?”
“Bill Monroe. It’s a pity you’re not representing Fleet. We could do with some help.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I suppose Carlos told you. One of my freighters went missing three weeks ago. An AR600. I’d only had her for a year.”
“That was a blow, I expect. They’re big, powerful freighters that can lift a lot of merchandise,” Valperez said.
Monroe’s lips jerked. Valperez had passed the test. In fact, Fleet had used AR600s as supply ships, recently replaced by the newer AR700. He wouldn’t be surprised if Monroe had bought a Fleet model that was no longer required.
“Ptorix pirates is my guess,” Monroe said.
Gomez raised his hands. “Steady on, Bill. We’ve no proof of piracy and there’s no need to blame the Ptorix.”
“There’s no proof of anything. But that’s the third ship to go missing in a year and a half.”
Three ships. That was significant. And troubling. “You’ve taken this to Fleet?” Valperez said.
Monroe’s lip curled. “We can’t, can we? Our parliament has to send a request and our mealy-mouthed president—”
“Now, Bill,” Gomez said. “The matter has been raised. These things take time.”
“Yes. Too much time. Well, since you’re here, Admiral, would you like to join us at the Captain’s Guild? Give our people a chance to explain what’s been happening? Maybe you can convince our leaders that action should be taken.”
“When is your next meeting?”
“I’m the president. I can call a meeting in… let’s say four days? It’s short notice, you won’t get everybody, but enough to give you an idea.”
Four days. He had a booking at the Lakeshore Resort, a thirty-day stay to get away from it all, reassess his life’s choices, do some intense navel gazing. He could still do that but come back for a meeting. If nothing else, Vlad Leonov would be interested in any intel. Several of the mixed Ptorix-human planets were restive at the moment.
“Four days would be fine, Captain. I’ll be happy to talk with your colleagues.”
Monroe beamed. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Do me a favor and wear a uniform. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turned toward the exit.
Gomez tutted. “Bill has a tendency to make planets out of asteroids, Admiral.”
“You don’t think three missing ships is an issue?”
The man frowned. “This is an efficient station. We handle near on one thousand ship arrivals a year. Three ships is a tiny fraction. Statistically insignificant. Ships go missing for lots of reasons. Stolen, of course. But the other two ships were old models, well past their expected service life. There may have been maintenance problems, navigation problems. It wouldn’t be the first time a ship exited shift space and slammed into a moon.”
“You make a good point, Mister Gomez. But I’ve found it’s always worth listening to people. If I can find answers, I will.”
Gomez nodded but the slight frown said it all.
“Well then. Good day. I’ll return before I finish my leave. I’m expecting a shuttle at docking bay D-17. It’s this way, isn’t it?”
Gomez started. “D-17?” He lifted a finger. “Just a moment.” He consulted his implant. “The shuttle pilot reports a mechanical issue. Out of service for perhaps a day. We’re waiting for parts.”
Valperez frowned. He’d been looking forward to getting away. “Can I hire anybody else?”
Gomez licked his lips. “Anders Bracknell might be able to help. But it is short notice. Or you could try Fran Navarro.”
Valperez suppressed the smile. The attractive woman in the grease-stained overalls. Who had won two Pullman medals. He wouldn’t mind getting to know her a little better. “I’ll try Navarro.” He walked away before Gomez could say more.
*
In her little office in a corner of the workshop Fran flicked through her to-do list. Finish the report for Torreno’s refit, fill out the insurance claim for Louroz’s shift drive repair, quotes for a couple of jobs. She hated this part of the work. But the quotes were the important part.
She’d finished one and started on the second when somebody came into her office. “Not now, Mick, I have to finish—”
She looked up at Valperez and her pulse beat a little faster. She managed a smile. “Admiral. What can I do for you?”
His lips jerked into a brief smile. “I’m a private citizen here. I need to get to the Lakeshore Resort. The shuttle I hired is out of service until tomorrow. Mister Gomez suggested you might be able to take me to where I’m going.”
He gestured at the chair standing beside him. “May I?”
“Look, I don’t offer a taxi service. My ships are out working.” All three of them, hauling goods from Ceranoso to Confederacy planets.
He sat. “Let’s call it a charter. Lakeshore is on the other side of the planet. A one-way trip and I’m prepared to pay in advance.”
“I don’t have any ships that you’d find suitable.”
He laughed. “You mean an admiral’s shuttle from a battle cruiser? I wasn’t always an admiral. I have flown the same ships you flew in Fleet. Like a T150.”
A T150. The damn things were the pits, where you learned how to improvise, use your judgment because the instruments might be a bit out. Temperamental and contrary. Just the thing to test raw young pilots.
Thinking about them led to a smile. “The only ship I can offer is an AR200. We’ve just finished a refit.” It was an obsolete light freighter or courier ship but highly thought of in its day. And she and Mick had just made some special modifications.
“You’ll be the pilot?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll take my chances. What is the fee?”
“Lakeshore Resort?” She checked the position and plotted a possible course. “Two-fifty. Fifty now and two hundred on arrival.”
He smiled. “Congratulations on not trying to gouge. Give me your account ID and I’ll transfer the money.”
She responded to the connection request from his implant and checked the amount. “Hey. I said two-fifty.”
“Three hundred is fair.”
She sent two-fifty back to his account. “I gave you a quote. Pay me the two hundred on completion.”
She met his gaze, noticed the hint of a smile. If he thought he could impress her with his money he could think again. Although she had to admit the rest of the package had impressed her.
“When can you be ready?” he said.
“Fifteen to finish a quote?”
He nodded.
“Meet me at bay C-20. It’s just through there.” She pointed.
One last nod and he walked away.
Mick rushed in. “What was that about? Has he asked you for a date?”
She rolled her eyes. “Good grief, you’re like a fifteen-year-old girl fishing for gossip. He needs transport. His shuttle’s gone OS. I said I’d take him in the AR200.”
“Okay. It’s a start.” The smile on his face was positively lecherous.
She pushed down the irritation. Mick had her best interests at heart. He didn’t like her occasional boyfriend, Leif Swanson. But it was none of Mick’s business.
“I could get awfully sick of this really quickly. Stash it, okay?”
“What? It’s about time you had a decent boyfriend. Messing around with Swanson isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
“Look, Leif’s good enough to scratch an urge every now and then. And that’s all I want. You think Valperez would be any better? He’s not going to be here long. And I expect he’ll have his wife with him.” She stood. “And since you clearly have nothing to do, sit down here and finish this quote. It’s for a full engine refit for an AR400.”
“We’ll have fun finding the parts,” Mick said, sitting down.
“Yes, we will. Don’t forget to quote for building a modulator. And when you’ve finished them, there are a couple of reports to fill your day.”
And now she’d better make sure the AR200 was ready. After she’d changed into her ship suit. And fixed her hair. And she’d have to make sure that spare exo-suit would fit him, too. One of the others would fit a woman.
Was he married? Fleet public records didn’t include stuff like that. But there were other ways.
After she’d showered and dressed, she had the AI search the net.
“Konrad Valperez was married eighteen years ago,” Simon, her company’s AI interface, said. “Here’s an image.” It displayed a young man, unmistakably the man she’d met. He wore white dress uniform and the insignia of a commander. The bride’s name was Liliana, a beautiful woman with honey-gold hair. Neither of them looked particularly happy.
Of course he was married. And his wife was a stunner. She hadn’t expected anything else. “Any vid?”
“Not accessible from here, Fran,” Simon replied. “This image is from the Fleet news eighteen years ago.”
No. Any vid would be on his home world. “Any children?”
“I’ve looked. There is no mention of children, but that is not conclusive.”
No, it wasn’t. Oh well. If she got to meet the wife she’d probably find out more.
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